China Beach
by MLaw
Summary: Napoleon and Illya are sent on a mission to Vietnam to steal documents, strategically important to the war. This is a follow up to the Randomness of life chapter 81, as many readers wanted to know what happened. Pre-saga


This story is based on the drabble "The Randomness of life chapter 81"

randomness 81

Prompted by: Haikus by Yosa Buson (1716 ~ 1783)

**A flash of lightning!**

**The sound of drops**

**Falling among the bamboos**

.

Napoleon could hear the sounds of the approaching vehicles. He had nowhere left to run and felt trapped like a stinking rat by Chinese troops.

Where was Illya? At least he spoke the language and might argue him out of this one.

Solo heard what they did to American agents...

He wiped the rain from his face, raising his hands.

Caught in their spotlights; a flash of lightning made him shiver.

Where was his Solo luck?

.

**'China Beach"**

Illya Kuryakin was accustomed to waking up with nagging headaches, usually they were courtesy of THRUSH, this time, however it was due to...well he didn't quite know.

The last thing he remembered was having fallen behind on the trail while following his partner, who'd been leading the way through the Vietnamese jungle north of Da Nang.

That was possibly the biggest mistake of the day as Napoleon Solo, though the best of the best among UNCLE agents had a terrible sense of direction, and had a tendency to get himself and his partner lost, whether on foot or in a vehicle, and even when following a map.

One minute Illya was on the overgrown jungle trail with bird songs and monkey chatter filling the humid air, the next minute he found himself laying in what looked like a hospital bed.

Illya raised his hands to his head, pressing down on his scalp as there was a substantial throbbing, clearly it was the mother of all headaches, and that was when he discovered one of his wrists was handcuffed to the metal bed frame. He raised his head slowly, gazing at his surroundings, seeing soldiers_Americans, lying on cots; all were wounded and heavily bandaged. Some seemed close to death.

This he hoped was some sort of M.A.S.H. unit and not a prison camp.

"Hello, glad to see you're awake at last Mr. Kuryakin," a pretty blonde woman dressed in army fatigues spoke to him. "And aren't those a gorgeous set of blue eyes?"

He smiled sheepishly at her, not saying a word, but rattling the handcuffs as he raised his eyebrows, relieved it was an American hospital unit.

"Oh sorry about that. The MP's thought you were some sort of Soviet spy, especially when you were mumbling in your sleep in Russian, and you kept saying 'Napoleon'...were you dreaming about Napoleon Bonaparte? Well anyway," she continued, not really giving Illya a chance to respond. "Once we found your papers and ID card, headquarters was radioed and your identity verified by a Mr. Waverly...he must be pretty high up there in the influence world as HQ never got back so fast on something like this..."

"Could you stop talking for a moment and uncuff me please, since you know I am not one of the bad guys?" Her continuous chatter was not helping his headache.

"Oh sorry, I do run off on the mouth sometimes. They boys like me to talk to them, it keeps them occupied...especially when we run out of painkillers. Sometimes placebos only work so well" She held up a key and proceeded to free the near surly Russian.

"I was following my partner through the jungle as we were headed north on an assignment...is he here? His name is Solo, Napoleon Solo."

"No, no one was found with you I'm afraid to say. Hmm, so that's the Napoleon you were dreaming about."

He paused for a moment, massaging his temples to soothe the pain and not answering her.

The nurse offered a paper cup containing some tablets as well as a glass of water.

With a wave of his hand, Illya refused. "I will deal with it on my own, thank you."

"Suit yourself. You're just lucky the worst thing that happened to you was a knock on the head."

"What exactly did happened to me? I remember it was dark and raining," Illya hiked himself up, and the nurse tucked an extra pillow behind his back.

"You and I guess your friend were apparently caught in a mortar attack, one of ours I'm afraid, so it was a case of friendly fire...sorry. A patrol of Green Berets found you and brought you here for medical attention. They didn't find your friend, so maybe he escaped, but that doesn't mean he's out of the woods so to speak. The mortar fire was for VC patrols spotted in the area, and hopefully he wasn't captured or killed by them. We've heard there were Chinese troops in the area as well."

"Are you sure? No sign of an American dressed in a camouflage uniform as I was... he is a handsome fellow, with dark hair, hazel eyes and a dimpled chin? His name is Napoleon Solo."

The nurse chuckled. "Now that's an unusual name even for a Yank and now I know who you were dreaming about. Sorry, no one by that description or name has been brought in here. I'd remember someone who sounds as good looking as him. So, Illya Kuryakin, UNCLE agent...what were you and this Napoleon fellow doing traipsing around Vietnam. It's not exactly the safest place to be right now."

"I am sorry, but I am not at liberty to say. Might I speak with your commanding officer?"

"Wow, that sounds sort of ominous. So you are sort of a spy for real, but working for our side right?" She paused for a second, ""Yeah, I know...you're not at liberty to say. I get the drill."

Illya rolled his eyes at her, shaking his head. "I can tell you that am an agent for the United Network Command for Law and Enforcement, which owes no allegiance to any specific country. We have headquarters located all around the world and I quote. "UNCLE is responsible for maintaining political and legal order anywhere in the world. It is multinational in makeup and international in scope, protecting and defending nations regardless of size or political persuasion. We operate in Communist and Third World countries the same way we do in Western nations." *

"Wow, I had no idea."

He finally smiled at her. "You know my name, and a bit about me, now may I ask what is your name?"

She thought a second about giving him a pithy answer, but decided against it. He seemed nice, but there was something very dangerous about him, and those cold blue eyes could probably freeze a man in his she'd taken an instant like to this handsome man, and as they spoke his cold blue eyes seemed to change color and warmed up. He had a nice smile when he let it free.

"I'm Lieutenant Miranda Hopkins from New York City, well Brooklyn to be precise. You can call me Mandy, everyone else does."

"Hello Lieutenant Mandy from Brooklyn. I also live in New York, so we have something very much in common.

"Boy do I miss the city, the sights the sounds...the smells. What I wouldn't give for a nice thick Del Monico steak and a lobster right now."

"When you return from this God-for-saken place I will take you out for steak and tails," he smiled at her in earnest now.

"Really? I'll hold you to that offer Illya. I'm due to be discharged in six months. Now I have something else to look forward to besides going home."

"Mandy, I have another question for you. Where are exactly am I?"

"Oh this is the Medical Army Surgical Hospital at My Khe, otherwise known as China Beach. We're just outside of Da Nang."

The blond agent cocked his head, as that was not as far from where he and Napoleon had been headed as he might have thought. This war here was ever-changing with areas being lost and recovered from the North Vietnamese, and was aware this place, China Beach, had already been overrun by the Viet Cong. Once he obtained the documents he'd been sent here for and their contents revealed to military intelligence, no doubt this unit would pack up and move out very quickly...

Mandy felt a little tingle of excitement as she grabbed Illya around his waist, helping him to his feet, and after making sure the Russian was able to stand on his own, she saw that he was escorted to the office of the Commanding Officer, Lieutenant Colonel Pitkin, who also happened to be head surgeon.

Illya was offered a seat in front of the Colonels desk along with a glass of Scotch, which for once he gratefully accepted. He filled the Colonel in on as much as he was able to without breaking security protocol, after which his UNCLE carbine and communicator were returned to him along with his array of explosives and most importantly to Illya, his pearl handled switchblade given to him so long ago by his late friend Natasha Asimov.**No matter how many times he'd been captured and relieved of his weapons, that knife always seemed to make its way back to him as if it were 'charmed.' It had saved his life as well as Napoleon's on many an occasion...

"Mighty fancy looking gun," Pitkin remarked," Never seen the like of it." The Lieutenant Colonel held up the compact carbine giving it a closer examination.

"It is specially designed by UNCLE technicians to convert our Walther-P38 Special into the carbine as you see it, as sometimes we have need for a longer range weapon. Illya quickly disassembled the carbine, and tucked his gun into the waistband of his trousers. Now down to brass tacks if we may sir, I need to get north to complete my mission, and hopefully find my partner as well, can you help me with that?"

"Well, we usually don't get involved in operations outside the surgical theatre or non-military ones mind you, so I'll need to consult Headquarters for the go ahead. What exactly will you need son?"

"A helicopter."

"Hmm, that might be a tall order as our choppers are pretty busy...but I'll ask. Our operational plan here is to dominate the ground with the enemy and kill them on "search and destroy" missions; the Viet Cong have similar war-fighting aims. So this is giving us a lot of casualties by the helicopter load and filling our field hospitals. Reilly?" Pitkin called to his orderly. A fresh face young man poked his head past the double doors.

"Yes sir, I have Headquarters on the radio for you now."

Pitkin looked at the Russian, shaking his head. "Damned if that boy can read minds, now if you'll excuse me? Help yourself to another scotch if you want."

Illya did just that, and downed the second libation in one swallow, sniffing and clearing his throat. He picked up his communicator pen from among his belongings, opened it.

"I too must consult with my superior. Open channel D-overseas relay to Mr. Waverly please."

"Mighty impressive radio equipment, wish we had something that small out in the field."

Illya nodded, "I agree they would help greatly but unfortunately they are far too expensive to manufacture for general usage, and besides they operate through a satellite system that is proprietary to UNCLE."

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin, you are overdue for your report. I was beginning to become a bit concerned," the voice of Alexander Waverly came through loud and clear. "How goes it so far?"

"Some complications have arisen sir and at present I am seeking help from the U.S. military to complete the assignment. I am afraid Mr. Solo has gone missing."

"Oh dear, not again. There was no young lady involved was there? I swear they will be the death of him."

"As far as I know sir there was not. Apparently we were caught in a mortar attack launched by the U.S. forces against North Vietnamese patrols..."

"Oh dear. I understand Mr. Kuryakin. Do whatever you deem necessary to obtain the documents and complete the mission. That information will benefit both the Americans, South Vietnamese as well as any country involved in fighting against the North. Is is a pity the Soviet Union and China have involved themselves with the other side as...you will have no trouble dealing with any of your fellow countrymen should you encounter them. Am I correct in this assumption?"

"Sir, my oath to UNCLE remains true and will not be broken, you have my word."

"Very good Mr. Kuryakin, keep me abreast of the situation and of course if you are able to locate Mr. Solo, all the better. Waverly out."

Lieutenant Colonel Pitkin returned with his deal from HQ.

"I have a proposition for you, sort of a barter. How are your sniper skills son?"

.

Several hours later Kuryakin was about to board the American helicopter, being escorted by Mandy Hopkins.

"Will I see you again Illya?"

"Life offers us no guarantees but hopefully you will," he flashed her is crooked little smile. He had quickly developed an attachment to this quirky woman.

She leaned forward giving him a peck on the cheek." For luck in whatever it is you have to do."

Illya suddenly grabbed her, planting a rather passionate kiss on her lips." That is a down payment until I return."

"I'll meet you at the officer's bar and have a bottle of vodka waiting for you," she smiled.

"That my dear, sounds like a plan." He turned and boarded the Huey, not looking back...he never looked back.

.

Napoleon sat cross-legged on the dirt floor of his prison, wearing what looked like lightweight striped pajamas, as that was the standard uniform in most Southeast Asian prisons. This prison, however, was merely a small room made of bamboo and wood.

Surrounding the camp was an equally crude bamboo wall, and at each of the corners there stood a tower, manned by a single guard with a Kalashnikov...yet again confirming the Soviet involvement with the North Vietnamese. They were doing more than acting as mere advisors as they claimed.

In Solo's lap was a fair-sized bowl of noodles in a not too weak vegetable-based broth, and he scooped up the ramen with a pair of bamboo chopsticks, struggling with them as he never seemed to have luck with chopsticks. At least his captors weren't exactly starving him, though he'd heard of American prisoners being held in the North who were being treated brutally.

Before starting his mission, after a briefing in Saigon he'd heard of an American woman, supposedly a socialite who had recently gone to one of the larger POW camps, with a camera crew, interviewing some of the men and extolling the quality of treatment they were receiving at the hands of the North Vietnamese. The place was well-kept and a showcase for the supposedly wonderful treatment the prisoners were receiving.

The Americans weren't cooperative, and the attempt at propagandizing the event was a bust.

Napoleon shuddered at the thought, wishing he could get his hands on the traitorous bitch...he worked for UNCLE but he was still an American, and her behavior demeaned the men had been fighting this war and shamed the country. He only hoped no one else would try to use such a lame-brained scheme to help the North Vietnamese further abuse their prisoners, treating them like little puppets.

Personally he wasn't exactly sure the United States belonged in Vietnam, but her method of propaganda just wasn't right, regardless of what the U.S. was doing there.

Napoleon wasn't sure where he was as the facilities looked too primitive and shoddy to be one of the larger POW camps; he doubted this one even had a name like the others such as Hoa Lo or the 'Zoo'. It was most likely a temporary dig, holding prisoners to be transferred to Hanoi, if not, then until their execution. He suspected that was probably going to be his fate...

So far he'd been lucky, suffering only some minor beatings as they questioned him. The Chinese who'd captured him were trying to lay claim to him as a spy, but somehow the North Vietnamese commander had won the toss, that was purely a guess and he became a prisoner of the VC.

His Vietnamese wasn't that good, though as he listened, he picked up a few words...one of them was 'Russian.' Did that mean they'd captured Illya, or did it mean something else? Only time would tell, and he wondered how much of it he had left.

Throughout his interrogations Napoleon maintained his cover story; that he was a French businessman there to tie up some loose ends on his family's failing plantation interests and his guide abandoned him in the jungle and he became lost.

The fact that he was dressed in camouflage fatigues didn't exactly help his story. He only hoped his captors could understand a Frenchman's willingness to close up shop and get out of the country as the war with the South and the Americans was escalating.

The cover story was a plausible one as there was still a French presence in Vietnam, with businesses and plantations dotting the war-torn country. Though French forces exited in the 1950's, losing to the Vietnamese during the Indochina war, but many countrymen remained behind as their families had been there since the late 18th century, so much so that French was official language of Vietnam since the time of French colonial rule...

Napoleon and Illya's mission had been to obtain documents from a North Vietnamese officer, showing a massive plan for the invasion of the South, as well as Laos, Cambodia, Thailand and Burma. but it looked to Solo as though the assignment was not going to happen.

He didn't even know if his partner was alive, remembering he gotten ahead of him on the trail, and that's when all hell broke loose as they started taking on mortar fire. He began to run, and that took him head on into a Chinese patrol. Most of the mortar rounds had landed behind him, right where the Russian was, and now Napoleon prayed that his friend's life had been spared.

He finished slurping down the last of the ramen noodles and drank the broth with a satisfied smack of his lips. He knew enough to savor every bit of it as, no doubt, they would begin cutting his rations.

There were two other prisoners with him, American pilots; Gerry Smith, and Robert Royal, both Lieutenants and neither of them were in good shape.

Napoleon couldn't dare let his guard down, not knowing if either or both of them had been broken under torture. They told him they'd been there for months and were eager for news of the outside world and how the war was going.

Solo kept up his pretense, though it ate at him, speaking to them in English with a heavy French accent.

"I'm sorry mes ami, but I have little to tell you. There is lots of fighting going on. Sometimes won in favor of _Les Américains_ and sometimes in favor of the Viet Cong. _Alors,_ it is a terrible war no matter whose side you are on."

"That is such bull shit!" Gerry growled, we're in the right. We're here to keep another country from falling to Communism."

"And perhaps it is better to let the people here decide, _n'est ce pas_? Minding one's own business is not a bad thing at times."

If Gerry hadn't been so weak he probably would have tried to belt Napoleon.

"Leave it be Ger, he's a Frenchie and even though we saved their asses during the War in Europe, you think they were the ones who'd won the war. Don't waste your energy on this ingrate."

It pulled at Solo's heart to let these brave men think that, but at the moment he knew it was for the best.

The bamboo door opened and two guards stepped in, holding their rifles at the ready.

_"Bạn ngay bây giờ! NGAY BÂY GIỜ!_" One shouted at the Americans, kicking at them until they rose as ordered.

The two men helped each other up from the floor, and Napoleon watched as they were shackled together. They were led out the door and as he peeked out through the bamboo walls he saw them taken to a waiting lorry, into which they were loaded.

The gate opened and the truck started, taking the American airmen away, most likely to Hanoi where it was rumored POW were being gathered.

That left Napoleon the sole prisoner, and he assumed the real torture would begin in earnest now as he would be the sole subject of their attention.

He was correct in that assumption when they returned for him in the early evening. They strung him up by his arms, and did their best to make him talk...using an old car battery to inflict pain as they threw water on him, and touched the clamps to his skin.

_"Cho chúng tôi biết sự thật, bạn không Pháp. Bạn là một điệp viên. Thừa nhận nó_Tell us the truth, you are no Frenchman. You are a spy. Admit it!_

_"Non! Non! Je suis française. Je dis la vérité_no no! I'm French. I'm telling the truth!" _Napoleon gasped as he called out.

One last touch of the battery clamp to his wet skin did it, and he mercifully passed out.

When Napoleon awoke, he was back in his bamboo cell. There was a bucket of water nearby, and he crawled to it, grabbing a cup and dipping it in. First he poured it over his sweat-soaked head, and finally he gulped down some of it, not really able to quench his thirst. The American closed his eyes, fighting off the pain that was clawing at every muscle in his body. He knew from past history that his body could only take so many electrical jolts before his heart would give out. Maybe that was what he should be praying for now...

.

Illya crawled through the bush on his belly, feeling the blazing sun on his back as his nostrils were assaulted by the smell of mildew. The temperature had to be at least a hundred degrees, and steam rose from the jungle around him.

He was armed with an M14 sniper rifle, and was followed by an American soldier who would act as spotter. There were two other shooters making their way along a similar path, and as fortune had smiled upon the Russian for once, their target was the very General who had in his possession the documents Illya needed to complete his mission.

It was rather fortuitous that the American military wanted this particular North Vietnamese officer eliminated, but little did they know he was part of the UNCLE agent's mission.

Finally they came to a small valley of mostly high grasses that was about 1000 meters long and 75 meters wide.

Illya and the other snipers buried themselves among the foliage, keeping out of sight as a helicopter flew over the camp. A jeep pulled up moments later and from it stepped a Russian officer, a Colonel, joining General Nguyen Van Thanh.

They sat together at a table, an aide pouring drinks for them, and Illya spotted a file folder held up by the General. Kuryakin hoped it was what he needed. Seeing the Soviet officer gave Illya an idea, one that he hoped would help him rescue Napoleon, if he was indeed still alive. R& D had implanted a subcutaneous tracking disk on both of them and at the moment, the signal was coming loud and clear from Napoleon's on Illya's communicator...but one thing at a time, he reminded himself.

"The Russian is mine," he whispered to the others.

Kuryakin, wearing an American uniform covered in vines and foliage waited for the command to fire. Between the three snipers they could take out all of them; the General, the Russian officer and their entourage of four men. Their downfall was their overconfidence at being safe and secluded here in the jungle.

Once in position, the spotter identified the targets, figuring out the range and windage

"Shooter one your target is 500 yards," the spotter said. "Secondary targets and tertiary targets are at 520 and 600. Countdown...will fire on three-two-one."

The sound of rifle repeats, as bullets zipped in the air happened within seconds, six rapid fire shots. None of them missed.

.

The noise of the cell door dragging against the floor alerted Napoleon, and a soldier stepped in, followed by the entrance of an officer, a Russian officer, though his uniform was ill-fitting. He was a bit short, but his swaggering gait made him seem more threatening and most likely dangerous. Napoleon realized they were now sending in the big guns to interrogate him. It was going to be bad...really bad.

His eyes suddenly met a very familiar cold blue stare, and Solo forced himself not to react.

The Russian spoke at first in Vietnamese. "_Vâng. Đây là người đàn ông chúng tôi đã được tìm kiếm_yes. This is the man we are looking for. He is Russian spy, double agent working for Americans and Soviet Union."_

He switched to Russian, speaking harshly to Napoleon.

_"Poydem so mnoy vy predatel'skoy sobaki. Predatel_Come with me, you treacherous dog. Traitor!_

The American responded in Russian as well, keeping up the ruse. _"Vy ne zastavit menya govorit'_you won't make me talk._"

_"Da ya eto sdelayu_yes I will."_ Those unflinching blue eyes flashed at him and now Napoleon knew why their enemies cowered at that icy look.

The oozing tone in Illya's voice made Napoleon shiver for a moment, making him think back to the Gurnius Affair, when his partner was forced to torture him. He prayed this wasn't going to be the case again as that episode took its toll on them, both physically and mentally. It had taken a long time to get over it...

Solo's hands were handcuffed and he was led out to a waiting jeep.

"Get in," Illya ordered in English, "And no funny business, or I will kill you where you stand Americankanskii dog. He patted the holstered gun hanging from his belt sneering at Solo with a feral grin.

Napoleon complied with the order as one of the black-clad Viet Cong guards cuffed him to the frame of the seat while Illya got behind the steering wheel, and started the jeep. The Vietnamese commander saluted the Russian as he put the jeep in gear and drove off at a casual speed.

"How'd you find me?" Napoleon asked, relieved there would be no torture sessions.

"Remember that subcutaneous disk that was implanted at the back of your hairline six months ago?"

"Oh right, I sort of forgot about that. Good thing that's where medical decided to put it...anywhere else and it would have been found, I have no doubt. They were thorough in their searches, very thorough, "Napoleon uncomfortably shifted in his seat

Illya finally smiled. "I had the good fortune to waylay a Russian who was probably going to be sent to oversee your questioning. Most likely you would have been executed as an American spy once he was done with you." Illya's tone was matter of fact, no surprise to his partner. "We are headed for a rendezvous with a helicopter to get us out of here. I retrieved the documents we were after though I had to do the Americans a favor to arrange for the chopper. It actually worked out to my benefit." Illya spoke, not taking his eyes off the crude jungle road and filled in Napoleon about the details of the sniper mission.

They arrived at a clearing where Kuryakin had hidden a radio and flares. He made the coded call, giving the coordinates from a small compass he'd pulled from his pocket and moments later he lit the smoking red flare to help them zero in on their position.

Within minutes they heard the thwup-thwup-thwup of a Huey as it approached, but just as it touched down, they began taking on gunfire. Illya quickly pushed his weakened partner into the chopper, and as he was hiking himself up, standing on the landing strut, his legs buckled as he was shot in the ass.

An arm grabbed him by the seat of his pants, quickly pulling him in as the chopper rose; with the loud fire of the M60 machine gun in the helicopter covering their escape...

A medic immediately went to work on the Russian's gunshot wound and within minutes it was bandaged and the bleeding brought under control as best possible. He's have to have surgery to remove the bullet.

"This is what we call in 'Nam, a million dollar wound, man," the medic remarked, though Illya had no idea what he was talking about.

The two agents gazed out with glazed eyes as the chopper flew higher into the air; both keeping their fingers crossed there wouldn't be any rockets launched in their direction.

The helicopter glided through the air and once out of range of the ground fire, the M60 stopped its barrage.

Illya pulled his communicator from his pocket. "Open Channel D-overseas relay."

"Yes Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly answered.

"Mission completed sir. I have the documents as well as Mr. Solo, who is a bit worse for wear, but will survive."

"Well done. Return to New York as soon as you are able."

Illya looked at his partner. "There may be a slight delay sir as I have been wounded. Nothing serious, but it will require surgery...ummmm, and Mr. Solo will be needing recovery time as well. He did receive some rough handling at the hands of both the Chinese and North Vietnamese. We are at present being taken back to_ My Khe_ beach, courtesy of the Americans."

"It sounds as if you have things well in hand, inspite of your injuries. Very well then, report to me as soon as you are both well enough to travel back to New York. I will in the meantime send Mr. Slate to retrieve the documents from you, as time is of the essence with them. Waverly out."

"Hmm, we nearly get killed and that's all he has to say," Napoleon mumbled. "No 'glad to hear you rescued Mr. Solo..."

"My friend, we did not get into this line of work for the accolades did we? It is a thankless but worthy task, and leave it at that." Illya laid his head back, closing his eyes. "And dare I remind you we are, as always, expendable?"

"Not completely thankless. Hey, thanks buddy for coming to get me," Napoleon leaned over, whispering to his friend.

One blue eye popped open. "Glad to be of service, but I think R&D and their tracking device deserve all the credit," the Russian winced, as he tried to settle himself in, unbuttoning and removing the uniform jacket and hat while he laid on his side. "I do not want to make myself more a target than I already am."He tossed the clothing out of the Huey and watched it flutter away in the air.

"So we'll raise a glass to Research and Development when we can," Napoleon winked, feeling the comfort of the air as it blew through the cabin of the Huey, carrying them away to relative safety at the medical unit at China Beach...

Illya lifted his head, "Oh and Napoleon, you will most likely be meeting a nurse named Lieutenant Mandy Hopkins when we arrive at hospital, and I am giving you fair warning now...she is mine." He gave him the stink eye.

"Fair warning taken chum. I'll steer clear."

"You are giving in too easily Napoleon," He raised his eyebrows, suddenly doubting his partner's word.

"Not really, I'm sure there'll be plenty of other nurses who'll be giving me their complete attention," Solo grinned.

"You never stop, do you my friend?" Illya snickered.

"Never will, _tovarisch_," Napoleon sniffed and clasped his hands behind his head, closing his eyes as well.

.

* source Wikipedia, originally penned by St. Crispins. ** ref to "The Orphanage."


End file.
